


Depth Perception

by kuwdora



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Porn, talkyface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-06
Updated: 2009-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you believe in?” he asked with a hiccup of innocence, knowing full well that Mohinder would play along.</p><p>“Science,” he breathed, eyes fluttering shut when Sylar dragged his clipped nail from jaw to the open collar.</p><p>“Science,” Sylar said and Mohinder’s head dropped back against the couch. He cracked his fingers with his thumbs and moved his hips enough to make Mohinder groan and snap his head back up. “Science can definitely explain this,” he said dutifully and twisted the fingers of his left hand up in Mohinder’s hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depth Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Written with much love and dedication to [](http://levitatethis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://levitatethis.livejournal.com/)**levitatethis**. I told her eons ago that I could and would write her something that would surprise her and hit all the buttons she had in addition to pointing out the others she hadn't seen. 'Cause I don't think she believe me when I said she had more tells than she realized. She was gracious enough to title the story for me. :D

In Sylar’s book, provocation was the sincerest form of flirtation that he loved to write and rewrite when it came to Mohinder. As of now, the strategy was to wheedle away at Mohinder’s defenses piece by piece until he couldn’t take it anymore and would push back like Sylar knew he could. He traced the length of Mohinder’s jaw from ear to lips with his index and middle finger, stroking curve of his chin. Mohinder tipped his head back and Sylar threaded his fingers into his hair, moving in slow, precise circles.

“Do you expect me to start purring?” Mohinder asked, eyes half-lidded.

“Not exactly,” he said and settled into Mohinders lap, knees straddling him on the couch. Sylar felt Mohinder pinch his leg as a way of encouragement and he took the hint, leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. Mohinder opened to him easily, kissing back with less finesse and tongue flicking out for more once Sylar pulled away.

“Then what?” Mohinder asked.

Sylar slid his other hand to tangle in Mohinder’s hair and gently pulled on the curls. It was a shame that Mohinder couldn’t see himself the way Sylar did. Mohinder eyed him like he was a cat whose nails were being clipped against his will, but the agitation was always the prologue. Sylar smirked and kissed his forehead, just above his left eye until his lips softened the furrowed glare.

“God is in the details,” he murmured between the dark brows, speaking right into Mohinder’s soul—his brain, the fiery, sharpened intellect that surprised him time and time again with his ingenuity and relentlessness. He hooked his forefingers behind Mohinder’s ears and drew him into another kiss that left them both breathless.

“You don’t believe in God,” Mohinder said and swallowed.

Sylar shifted in his lap and cupped Mohinder’s face, pads pressing deep into the oily skin, reveling in the scratchy surface. He’d never say it directly, how the several days worth of growth gave Mohinder’s face a new kind of depth, full without being incongruous, and brought more definition to the dark eyes and unassuming curls that shaped his face.

“Either do you,” Sylar said and thumbed open the first button of shirt. “What do you believe in?” he asked with a hiccup of innocence, knowing full well that Mohinder would play along.

“Science,” he breathed, eyes fluttering shut when Sylar dragged his clipped nail from jaw to the open collar.

“Science,” Sylar said and Mohinder’s head dropped back against the couch. He cracked his fingers with his thumbs and moved his hips enough to make Mohinder groan and snap his head back up. “Science can definitely explain this,” he said dutifully and twisted the fingers of his left hand up in Mohinder’s hair. He leaned forward, letting his own unshaven cheek scrape against Mohinder’s and whispered in his ear.

“A little bit of X chromosone, little bit of Y.”

Sylar sucked on his ear and Mohinder tried clearing his throat but it turned into a sigh.

“Something like that,” Mohinder said and the shaky resolve made Sylar's chest tighten.

"The symmetry of attractiveness,” he said, tracing an invisible line from Mohinder’s forehead, between the dark eyebrows and down, slowly, along his nose until his finger rested on Mohinder’s lips, parting them to clack a nail on his teeth. Mohinder tried biting the finger but Sylar pulled away and continued tracing the line down his chin, his neck, until his hand rested on Mohinder’s chest, fingers massaging the chest hair that would be delightful to taste.

“Wouldn’t you rather take my clothes off?" Mohinder asked and reached for next button. Sylar’s hand snapped to block, the automatic reprisal that was oh-so-practiced and honed to perfection in Mohinder’s presence. He returned the hand to Mohinder’s side, humming indignantly.

“Your patience isn’t what it used to be. But then again, the formula _did_ have lots of consequences when you injected yourself,” he said and began layering kisses on the smooth part of Mohinder’s cheeks, each kiss becoming more firm than the next when Mohinder tried looking away to shake him off.

“I preferred you when you were trying to kill me,” he murmured, looking down. Sylar laughed into the annoyed frown and Mohinder bit down harder on his lip, hands more forceful at his own zipper.

“I am glad that I never saw you with those scales,” Sylar said, burying the lump of excitement in his throat. He leaned back and sat on Mohinder’s lap, fake thoughtfulness sliding into place. “There are certain things I don’t want burned into my brain,” he said and yanked the hand away, pinning his wrists behind his head. Sylar was appreciating the edge in Mohinder’s movements, especially the restless tug against his hold, but it wasn’t enough, not when he knew Mohinder was playing it all too coy.

“Ironic, coming from you,” Mohinder said and gave Sylar’s arms a wary look. He rolled his eyes and let his head rest on the couch. Sylar scooted further into his lap, rubbing the crotch of his denim jeans against Mohinder’s stomach, in an attempt to make him forget any semblance of irony. Mohinder tried arching in response but Sylar let go of his hands and held him by the shoulders, holding him down, finding little resistance, much to his dismay. The push and pull wasn’t going to work well unless there was an equal amount of heave and ho.

“You’ve got to work with me here,” Sylar said with an exaggerated sigh. He flicked another button open with his thumb and forefinger while his other hand tousled Mohinder’s hair, pulling several locks out of their natural curl and pressing them messily to his forehead.

Mohinder shook his head and brushed the hair back into place. He was careful to nudge Sylar’s hands out of the way and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. Sylar’s eyes danced from Mohinder’s leery face to the slit of torso appearing and he shifted uneasily, pent-up arousal almost forcing his hand sooner than he wanted, sooner than he needed. Sooner than Mohinder. Sylar still had enough sense to grab Mohinder’s hand when it was about to pull his zipper down again. He gave Mohinder a chiding look and for a second he thought the frown tugging at the corner of his lips, the diffused annoyance in his eyes meant he was going to yank his pants down and start stroking himself. Or that he would push him away, pin him to the ground, the not-so-transparent turnabout that Sylar was watching for. But no, Mohinder wrenched his hands away, laying them palms down on the cushion. Sylar smiled and carefully pushed Mohinder’s shirt open, where more danger lurked than in stories of parted seas crashing down. The lithe expanse of dark skin, still hot to the touch, was enough to incapacitate him with lust and Sylar wasn’t sure he didn’t want to drown anymore.

Instead of touching, tracing the ribcage, spreading fingers over his pectorals, he played with Mohinder’s collar until he sat up and shrugged the paisley abomination from his shoulders. Sylar slipped his arms underneath Mohinder’s, melting into his body and planted his face in the side of his neck. His shirt felt immeasurably warm when Mohinder’s arms settled loosely around his waist.

“Since when do you work with anyone?” Mohinder asked, pressing a kiss to his temple and Sylar closed his eyes.

“Since now,” Sylar said into his neck and took a deep breath, finding himself unable to connect to the instinctual part of his brain that knew how to let go. He took another breath, trying to think of what to do, where to go, how to push, pull, goad. And yet, as much as the tightness in his jeans hurt, there was a part of him that had no problem staying there nestled in Mohinder’s embrace for as long as he would have him.

Mohinder’s hands did several circuits up and down his back, scratching the itch in the all wrong places. Except that he stiffened when Mohinder’s fingers weaseled beneath the elastic of his boxers, finger rubbing the cleft of his ass, roaming deeper, pressing against his opening. He groaned, surprised, and pressed his tongue to Mohinder’s carotid and sucked. He cupped the other side of his neck to keep him steady and worked until Mohinder’s breathing quickened. Sylar remained unconcerned with the amount of beard burn as his expedition took him back up Mohinder’s neck, lips finding purchase on the side of his jaw. Mohinder tipped his head forward, finger still resting in his cleft and kissed him once, twice and one finger became two. A third kiss, a third finger and the third kiss broke when Mohinder’s head dropped back to the couch again. Sylar laid his forehead against on his shoulder once more, taking in the faint scent of sweat and saliva. He didn’t even realize how his hips were imitating the grinding movements of Mohinder’s fingers until the chuckle rumbling beneath his cheek alluded to the fact.

Sylar dragged his nose from his chin to the hollow of his throat, lips parted enough to moisten a path on Mohinder’s hot skin to dull the scratchiness. Mohinder’s free hand clenched his thigh like it was the last thing to hold on to in the world. Navigating the swath of muscle and chest hair with his mouth, Sylar found himself teething the skin around Mohinder’s nipple.

“God, I’m going to kill you,” Mohinder said in a low tone.

“Do you promise?”

“I _swear,”_ he whined.

“Can’t swear to God,” Sylar interrupted, capturing him in a kiss. Mohinder grabbed him by the face and held him there, leaving biting kisses on his lips, chin, along his jaw. “But you can promise. A Pretty promise, even. With a—” Sylar said, cut off by Mohinder’s hush of lips, arm around his neck, pulling him down. The other hand slid down his back, into his jeans, fingers stroking his opening. Sylar clenched his jaw, determined not to pant, but more determined to make Mohinder keen.

“Promise,” Sylar pleaded, hand swiftly opening his jeans and freeing his erection. Denim shoved halfway down his thighs, he ground into him.

Mohinder fumbled, hands grasping his ass and erection at the same time. Sylar stifled a groan and rutted into the increasing pressure of Mohinder’s clenched hand. “Mohinder,” Sylar said and braced his hands either side of his head, clasping the couch.

“Promise? It’s a _threat_ , you moron,” Mohinder said and swatted his thigh abruptly. “It’s _implied_. I know you’re perceptive enough to know that.” Sylar’s huff was more of a pained sound when Mohinder tugged on his balls and pushed his erection away so he had enough room to pull down the zipper and release himself. He shuddered at the relieved noise Mohinder made when he touched himself, the divine sound enough to stun him into silence. He had to sit back to admire the view but Mohinder came with him, leaning forward and pushing his shirt up to kiss his chest. Teeth nicked his nipple and a hand glided to his hip, squeezing even as the shirt fell down against his nose. Sylar felt around for Mohinder’s other hand, for the fingers that were curling around his erection. After a few moments of uncoordinated finger bumping, they managed to loosen their hands to accomodate the girth of Sylar’s own erection in their palms and Mohinder let his shirt fall back down.

“It better be,” Sylar whispered into his open mouth and the forceful push of Mohinder’s tongue earned him an appreciative moan.

“I hate when you do this,” Mohinder said in between the series of languorous kisses that rolled one into the other.

“Do what?” he asked, nonplussed, fingers treading over the muscles of his chest.

“Drag everything out,” Mohinder said, looking squarely down at his wandering hands. “I’m sure it didn’t take you this long when you took an ability.” He adjusted his hand to stroke their erections the best he could at the awkward angle and Sylar sighed, easing into the grip.

“That was different. It had to be ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am or sir,’” Sylar said, mimicking the slice across Mohinder’s forehead, patted his cheek and kissed his lips. His lopsided smirk caused Mohinder to roll his eyes and lift his hips again. Sylar automatically rose in sync and eased back down, jerking several times into Mohinder’s hand and laughed. “I didn’t always have time to really work, take them apart. It was all too rushed. Messy,” he said and bent to kiss the center of Mohinder’s chest. “As much as I liked fixing watches, I liked the _process_ more. Taking something apart so completely and put it back together. Problem solving. Improvising when I didn’t know my way around,” he said. Mohinder stared, less than impressed by the monologue, but it seemed to do the trick because he opened his legs and shifted on the couch to give him more space to rock into him.

“You’re a terrible liar, by the way. I know you love this,” Sylar said, nudging Mohinder to tip his head back so he could admire the way the light played upon sheen of sweat. Mohinder cleared his throat and Sylar couldn’t resist touching his neck or the shoulder that shrugged him off.

“You always think you know everything,” Mohinder said, twisting his wrist and pulling on their erections. The tug sent a sharp twinge to his stomach and his hips responded accordingly.

“Almost everything,” he conceded and shimmied off Mohinder’s lap, kneeling on the floor. He shook himself free of his jeans and removed Mohinder’s pants, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes that sought to earn another biting remark.

“But who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

“Shut up,” Mohinder said.

Sylar grinned and licked the underside of Mohinder’s erection from tip to base, hands sliding up his thighs. His lips closed around one of his balls and he sucked gently, taking in the weight, the feel of the velvety sac on his tongue. Mohinder twitched, pushing forward into his mouth and the stuttered noises he was making was more than enough to make Sylar’s throat close up in excitement. He pulled away and inhaled deeply, tongue rolling around in his mouth like he was making space inside. Mohinder’s legs began to close in around him and Sylar scraped his cheek against the smooth inner thigh.

“Make me,” he said, nothing short of a dare.

Sylar moved his cheek along the inside of Mohinder’s thigh, listening to him try to control his breathing. He reached out to touch dark thatch hair at the base of his erection. His fingers moved in tiny circles, his index finger being the primary instigator of pressure as it slinked around the base, dipping to trace saliva-ridden sac. Mohinder fidgeted, his hand coming to rest on Sylar’s wandering hand. Their eyes met and Sylar was becoming eager to replace the impatient glaze with one of abject pain that would bleed white in the deep fissure of pleasure.

He licked the taut skin again and sighed, lips resting on the tip.

“Make me, Mohinder,” he said and opened his mouth, lowering his jaw enough to take him all the way in, nose pressed against the wiry pubic hair. He struggled to inhale through his nose and withdrew himself with excruciating slowness while a Mohinder grabbed a fistful of his shirt rather than his hair. He pursed his lips around the slick length and tightened his cheeks, his tongue tentatively finding it’s way around in the constricted space of his mouth. There was a choked enough sound that could have been his name but he failed to hear it, focused on the raw heat sliding deeper into his mouth. He sucked and tightened his lips when he pulled back but struggled to draw enough breath to suck when he returned for a second bob. Mohinder fidgeted under him and pressed his face down hard into his crotch and he bucked into Sylar’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat hard enough to make him pull off completely. He coughed and blinked the tears back and laid his head on Mohinder’s leg, the mark of approval plain on his face once he licked his lips, looking up at him.

Mohinder sat up and cupped the side of his face, stroking the hairline and Sylar leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. Mohinder stood and he opened his eyes at the absence of his touch only to see Mohinder stepping around him. He turned to follow suit, throwing his hand out to feel the curve of his ass before it was out of reach. Mohinder briefly stopped and turned around, giving him the universal _follow me_ quirk of his lips. He walked backwards and held his hands out for Sylar to grab, which he did, and Mohinder pulled him into his arms, their hips crashing together and Mohinder kissing the grainy portion of his neck.

He groaned into Mohinder’s hair and held a hand on his lower back to keep him from walking further so he could grind into him right then and there. Mohinder grabbed him by the elbows and pulled his hands away and they made it a few more steps to the bedroom door.

Mohinder tilted his head while kissing him back. When he opened his eyes, Mohinder was staring back at him, hands suddenly holding his face as he pressed harder, pushing Sylar back the steps they already came. Sylar engaged in the grapple and threw his weight into Mohinder whose feet didn’t budge.

Sylar’s hands immediately went to Mohinder’s hips and and turned him. He moved, but not enough. Mohinder’s erection grazed his hip time and time again and Sylar pressed his face in the crook of Mohinder’s neck and Mohinder pushed him away enough to for another open mouthed kiss.

“Mohinder,” he hummed drawing out the syllables in an accusatory manner and nipped at him.

Mohinder flashed him a wolfish grin and gave him a chaste kiss. Of course that was before he put a foot behind his heel and Sylar toppled backwards, landing with a pained crack on his shoulders and ass. Pain turned into more pain as Mohinder fell onto him, knocking the air from his lungs. The throbbing in his head and back quickly receded, due in no small part to his healing, but more to the fact that Mohinder was on top of him, moving, touching, kissing his tshirt and neck while their erections bumped against one another.

He genuinely whimpered as Mohinder pushed his shirt up to his neck and layered his chest with sloppy kisses, barely offsetting the uncomfortable rawness of the carpet burn on his ass and shoulders. Forceful fingers splayed across his arms, pinning him in a fashion.

He sat up enough to extricate himself from the t-shirt and Mohinder leaned in for more, taking his time to investigate, encouraging the slow burn in the pit of Sylar’s stomach. He loved the burn, loved how was Mohinder’s turn to taunt, have his way before he’d move on, like he had to inspect single muscle before he could really touch him. He turned his head and watched the methodical aspiration of Mohinder’s lips his bicep, hands anchored on his shoulder and wrist, flashing Sylar a look that indicated he was keenly aware that that telekinesis wasn’t a part of his fitness routine. Mohinder kissed the inside of his elbow and Sylar tilted his hips enough that Mohinder sank his teeth into muscle built up from years of doing push-ups in the back of his lonely shop.

He was hard enough that he could come undone at any moment, but he was so used to fighting desperate need, staving off the finality of any situation—life, death, climax—that he could lay back and bask in the undivided attention for as long as Mohinder could go. Except as Mohinder’s tongue swirled around his nipple, he sighed and arched with a rippling awareness.

“Mohinder,” he said quietly almost too quietly, but Mohinder murmured acknowledgment. He slid fingers into Mohinder’s hair, pushing the drooping curls back and tipping his chin up.

“I need you,” Sylar said, careful, searching his face. Mohinder drew away and kissed his palm.

“I need you to take it,” he said, a little stronger and the tightness in his chest wasn’t from Mohinder moving against him. Confusion edged onto Mohinder’s features and Sylar’s fingers curled along the side of his jaw, sliding to rest on his neck.

“Need you to take. Without asking,” he said, closing his eyes. “Want. Take. Have. No matter what,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” he whispered.

“You have to _take_ … me. Without asking., You have to _have_ ,” Sylar said.

Mohinder stopped moving his hips. Sylar opened his eyes to find Mohinder staring at him intently, the request definitely throwing his equilibrium. Sylar tried sitting up, but the vertigo was too much for him to handle, at least in the short term, and he laid back down.

“But—”

“Please,” he said and pushed Mohinder away.

“What do you call this,” Mohinder said and his his hands slid up each of Sylar’s thighs until they met at his erection, pumping him once, twice and _yes_ , it felt great and Sylar wanted to continue revel in his exploratory touch, but he needed more, more than Mohinder leaning down and licking him, sucking him. He needed to experience the ferverish intensity coursing through his body, be on the receiving end of the craving.

“Not enough,” Sylar said and scooted away, ignoring the chafing on his backside. He got up, using the couch for balance and Mohinder sat on his knees, staring up at him. He was bewildered, flushed so much he didn’t look like he was in any state to argue, a point that disappointed Sylar a little bit.

Sylar pulled him into a hug and then held Mohinder’s face carefully, placing a row of three kisses on his forehead before letting his own rest there. He closed his eyes and thumbed the corners of Mohinder’s mouth.

“You have to take me,” he repeated, slowly, more for his own benefit to make sure he was actually getting the words out the way he wanted. “Need you to _have_. Don’t ask. Don’t apologize. Just take,” Sylar said, fumbling for the clarity that he had solidly in mind.

Mohinder’s arms hesitantly circled his waist. With a few strokes, a few strategically placed kisses, they could finish here and now and it’d still be great because Mohinder reeked of sweat and sex and touched him like it was the last thing he’d ever do. But he didn’t want to come in Mohinder’s hand or mouth, not now. Not like that when it could be more, if Mohinder would hear him. Intutitively understand even with the benefit of doubt.

“Why?” Mohinder asked, the question replinishing the conviction welling up in Sylar in a way the prior languorous kisses hadn’t. He grabbed Mohinder by the hips and shoved him hard, bending him over the back of the couch and the surprised gasp was meaningless. Mohinder struggled, straining to fill his lungs with air, but Sylar ignored it. He pressed his erection to Mohinder’s backside and leaned into him, breathing heavily in his ear. Mohinder stilled with the proximity of his lips.

“Please,” Sylar said, the syllable nearly mangled beyond recognition but Mohinder must have gotten the point because he abruptly shrugged Sylar off of him and straightened, eyeing him with a hybrid of fear and curiosity. Sylar stared back at the blank look Mohinder was giving him and he thought he’d gone too far. Sylar wanted to look away, his face warming out of something he would not describe as a sudden fit of shyness. Instead, he focused on tracing the outline of Mohinder’s form with his eyes and resisting the urge to reach out and touch the part of his legs that met his ass, fingers rest on the jut of hipbones and ignore the sense-memory of the taste of sweat on his tongue.

Mohinder was still uneasy and Sylar took a step backward, shoulders tight with the anticipation he wasn’t sure he was going to fully experience. He looked behind him at the hallway, the bedroom, back to the couch and Mohinder. He waited. Mohinder had a hand around his erection, not pumping, not squeezing, but holding. Watching him with the unfathomable amount of attention Sylar had always coveted.

Sylar swallowed, canting his head and exhaling loudly. He didn’t want to have to ask again and as Mohinder always seemed to respond to nonverbal cues better anyway, he ran a hand down his chest to the tip of his erection and up again. Mohinder advanced a few wary paces and Sylar didn’t grin or flash any of the dozen charismatic smiles reserved for those he manipulated. He didn’t want to grin or smile. What he wanted, what he needed was Mohinder. Needed to be overcome, and for that he was going to strip and lay himself bare. It wasn’t a night for poker faces. He’d show him his fear.

Mohinder was looking past him and when Sylar looked over his shoulder and back to Mohinder once again, feeling frozen in mid-step. Mohinder still looked concerned, like he was ready to question him further, and as much as Sylar could analyze and reflect upon the state of mind of others as well as himself, he simply couldn’t spell this out any better than he already did.

“Walk,” Mohinder said, curt nod indicating the bedroom. The word was loud and clear enough to make Sylar’s stomach do a little flip. He glanced over his shoulder again and began walking backwards, in step with Mohinder who came closer but not close enough to reach out to him. Not close enough to push or shove. It was more painful that way, making him ache more than Mohinder’s tongue on the sensitive parts of his body. But he couldn’t tell him that. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t show the trepidation and want with anything more than widened eyes.

Once in the bedroom Sylar stopped, he eyed the bed and looked back in a silent faceoff with Mohinder, his heart thudding in his chest and ears, about ready to jump out ofh is skin and regain his mental balance again. Mohinder approached him, reaching for his hips, but he edged out of the way. _He_ wasn’t playing coy; _this_ was different.

“Sylar,” he said, the annoyance as pitch perfect as Sylar remembered. He must have been too focused on the way Mohinder’s eyebrows caved in because there was suddenly an arm around him, pulling him forward only to be turned on his heels and shoved onto the edge of the bed. He moved his knee get onto the bed, but Mohinder dragged him back until his feet were placed on the floor. Hands on his back pushed him down and Mohinder’s knee parted his legs. Sylar braced himself, knees buckling, barely able to focus on painful way his erection was wedged between the mattress and his stomach. He didn’t need instinct, he didn’t need to think. He had Mohinder right there, hand on his shoulder, on his hip, making sure he remained still. Mohinder pressed himself to Sylar’s back, tracing the length of Sylar’s arms as he dragged them up from his sides until he was spread eagle.

“Stay like this,” Mohinder’s breathed hot on the back of his neck and released his wrists to stand up. Sylar lifted his face from the mattress and listened for Mohinder’s footsteps leaving the room. He eyed the concave assortment of pillows up the bed, limbs still spread and held there of his own accord, muscles burning from the wait. It wasn’t long until Mohinder returned and Sylar tilted his head to follow his naked body as Mohinder went for the nightstand, retrieving the lube. He sat on the edge of the bed and angled himself for Sylar’s benefit and began applying the lube in a sensible, meticulous manner, cupping and stroking himself until he was satisfied. He got up without flipping the bottle closed and disappeared from his line of sight once more.

The slippery hint of fingers along his opening was brief and so was the slick tip of Mohinder’s erection along his perineum until he slid his erection between Sylar’s thighs, brushing against his sac and forcing it between the mattress and his own erection. The tease and sudden thrust sent made Sylar quake from the inside out and he jerked his hips pitifully against the bed. Mohinder thrust again, hand on clasped tightly back of his neck until he was face first into the sheets, muffling the sound he could remotely hear himself making. His knees gave way and he sank enough that Mohinder clawed at his thigh until he straightened his legs again so his ass was more level with Mohinder’s waist.

Sylar tilted his head to the side, sliding his hands along the sheet, fingers getting caught in the navy folds while Mohinder spread his cheeks with a horrifying slowness. The first touch of beard against his ass made him pull away only to be clenched by Mohinder’s resolute hands.

There was an unfamiliar snap that he couldn’t quite place and the familiar slick sounds that he _could_ place of Mohinder applying more lube. Within a matter of seconds, Mohinder’s cool finger traced the cleft, pressing at his hole, testing different amounts of pressure until the sudden push of a latex-covered thumb forced him open. Sylar exhaled loudly, pushing himself to his elbows. It _burned_ and the resistance was unlike anything he’d felt before, especially when Mohinder pulled back and Sylar bore down, trying to understand why he felt he recognized the alien feeling despite being the first time Mohinder touched him like this. He took another deep breath and attempted to relax and when Mohinder was able to push past his knuckle and twisted, he literally felt the epiphany twist inside him. Mohinder was wearing his thumb ring underneath the glove.

 _“You’vegottobekiddingme,”_ Sylar said, unable to summon any amount of incredulity because he had to hold on onto the sheets for dear life. Mohinder’s other hand was on his lower back, struggling to keep him down as he twisted his thumb the other way. It was unexpected and _hurt_ in a way he’d anticipated but never actually felt himself. He swore when Mohinder pushed deeper, curling his thumb up and _god_ — the thumb, with the _ring_ inside his ass. The slow motion of Mohinder’s movements was driving him crazy. There was no way that the lazy curl of Mohinder’s finger could make him break out in so much sweat behind his knees and elbows, make the joints burn. Beneath him, his stomach was wet from his leaking erection and the drying lube but that didn’t matter because Mohinder settled once all the way in. He fanned the rest of his fingers over his ass while his other hand slid up and down the part of his spine he could reach. Sylar rubbed his face into the sheets, his eyes burning from the sweat and he eased back down onto his knees, bringing Mohinder with him.

“Mmhm,” Mohinder said and drew the finger out, only to foist it back in, and out, and in again until it hurt less and less and the friction made grind against the bed. He pushed back into Mohinder’s hand, needing him to go deeper, add another finger—something, _anything_ because he understood the pall of Mohinder’s annoyance about dragging things out now— but Mohinder, with nothing more than his thumb, guided him to stand as best he could, bent over the edge of the bed. He smacked his flank playfully and pulled the finger out. The absence of the tightness left him wanting even more than he ever wanted anything else. The latex snap pinched his ears again as Mohinder removed the glove, making his heart leap in excitement and he couldn’t breathe when Mohinder pressed his erection to him, slowly pushing in. If he thought the coiled friction burned with from the small thumb, it sizzled, divine and scalding with the pressure of Mohinder making his way deeper into him. Sylar frantically lifted his hips, not wanting to orgasm by humping the bed. The ribbed muscles in his ass contracted, fighting the pushing, the intensity of the size and pressure but once Sylar focused and prodded the veneer of calm into his mind, he was able to relax somewhat, making it easier for him to go deeper. When Mohinder settled, he waited and traced whimsical-feeling spirals on along his thigh. Sylar pillowed his face into his arms and _did not sob_.

Mohinder pulled back, nearly out and that time, and Sylar failed to choke off the plaintive noise. He pushed his hips back into Mohinder’s hands so he’d still have the fullness inside of him. Mohinder gave him a definitive shove into the bed and pushed back into him with a vexing thrust and a grunt. Sylar clutched onto the sheets and _yes_ Mohinder’s implicit promise, was harsh and unrelenting. There was nothing but sheets in his face and Sylar shut his eyes, clamoring for more cotton, heels of his palms digging into the mattress to keep himself from sliding. He tilted his hips up further, rocking out of sync until the rhythmic slap of Mohinder plunged into him hard enough to see stars and righted their movements. His balls were tightening with the repeated hits to his prostate and he was going to come pressed right into the bed. He might have said something to the effect because Mohinder promptly stopped and pushed him all the way onto the bed. Sylar didn’t even recognize his own voice when protested when Mohinder pulled out.

He shuddered and Mohinder rolled him onto his back, leaning down to kiss him for the first time since the living room. Lips on his collarbone, teeth on his shoulder and _now_ , he needed to come now, in Mohinder’s hand, Mohinder holding him down because it was finally enough. But no, Mohinder’s tongue swirled around his puckered nipple and tugged on the patch of chest hair with his teeth until Sylar cried out. He vaguely heard the debauched whispering in his ear, asking, no— _demanding_ —he ask for forgiveness and Mohinder grabbed onto his erection. Mohinder was pressed to his stomach and Sylar didn’t have a clue if he apologized or not. He thought he did, but he couldn’t help from rocking into his hand.

“Hold it in,” Mohinder told him. At this rate, he’d have to hold his breath and not even think about moving to prevent himself from scrambling towards the orgasm. He nodded and opened his eyes to see Mohinder staring at the erection in his hand, giving him a threatening glare. It made Sylar feel vaguely nostalgic for the old days but the nostalgic waned because this was here, the now. For now, it was _infinitely_ better than all the killing and manipulation combined. Now was full of give and take, animosity of Mohinder’s fingers digging into his sides, bucking into him hard enough that Sylar felt the corners of his eyes become wet. The roiling build-up of heat, pressure and the irreverent thrusts against his hip were coming to an apex. He closed his eyes and arched into Mohinder’s hand. Mohinder let go and the tip of his erection was at his entrance again. Mohinder slid his hands underneath the knees and pushed his legs up until Sylar hooked them over Mohinder’s shoulders. The position was terrifying, more vulenerable than what he bargained for and he could hear parts of himself telling him to turn the tables and come out on top, the way it was, they way it should. But it wasn’t the way he needed. Sylar craned his head and body as Mohinder dragged him back down to the edge of the bed so he could stand properly. Mohinder re-inserted himself and Sylar exhaled, welcoming the undeniably hot pressure filling him again as Mohinder dove deep, thrusting without restraint.

“Sylar,” Mohinder groaned.

He tried to respond but all he could do was gasp, because he was there, the twinge in his balls, the swirling, pulsing sensation in his stomach, he was close. It was a matter of his hand on to guide himself off the cliff. The pounding made his vision slide out of focus and Mohinder said his name again.

“Wait,” he hissed, hopefully loud enough to be heard. Mohinder didn’t stop, he kept ramming into him, just like Sylar had asked.

“ _Stop_ ,” Sylar cried, voice hoarse. He slid his legs from Mohinder’s shoulders and bucked enough to get Mohinder to slow down.

“My name,” he said and started pumping himself. If he stopped moving completely he’d explode, and if he focused on the curl of his fingers, the shape of letters in his head, he could hold on for a little while longer and that’s all he needed. Mohinder was there, hovering over him, eyes wide, out of breath and emanting distilled lust. Clearly he didn’t want to wait, but he did.

“Say my name, Mohinder,” he whispered. The words were too much of an effort and he panted as a result.

“Sylar,” Mohinder said in a huff and resumed the sharp, decisive jerking of his hips.

“No,” Sylar said and scooted himself onto the bed enough so he wouldn’t slide off and wrapped his legs around Mohinder’s waist. Mohinder’s hand was on his erection while the other held his hip, thrusting, and Sylar shifted on the sheets at an angle, trying to scramble away and hold on for a little bit longer.

“My name, Mohinder, _my name_ ,” he pleaded, sounding all wrong in his ears when he knew how to be more straightforward and demanding, but he couldn’t, not while he teetered so dangerously close. He about swallowed his tongue when he came in short, hot spurts, forced out by the jackhammering against his prostate. His moan was nothing short of obnoxious, weighed down by need and something akin to love because it’s what it had to feel like, tasting the sweat from his upper lip while Mohinder slid in and out, hot semen striping his chest.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Mohinder crooned, the centerfold of the promised threat, threaded with irony and unforseen tenderness that was palatable by the way Mohinder began losing control in uncoordinated thrusts. He repeated his name again and Sylar’s hand worked it’s way up and down his erection between their two stomachs finishing when Mohinder began filling him. Each excurciatingly hard jerk surprised him more than the next, eliciting from him a grunt with each thrust. Mohinder lost his grip on Sylar’s hips frantically and leaned into him, groping his softening erection, sucking his neck, whispering his name over and over, rubbing him anywhere he could touch. When Sylar stilled, Mohinder bit his collarbone and tumbled further into his orgasm, filling him to the point that he was drowning in throes of blissful agony that neither of them wanted to finish. Mohinder sat up and began pulling out but Sylar shakily stopped him, putting Mohinder’s hands on his waist. He parted his lips to speak but there wasn’t anything he could possibly say that could express the magnitude of emotions humming through. Nothing was more erotic than relinquishing control to Mohinder, powerless, and fucked through and through. Nothing.

Mohinder reclined into him and his fingers tickled the side of his face. Sylar swallowed. The quiet acceptance in Mohinder’s eyes was far more disorienting than the taunts about redemption and selfishness he snarled in his ear mere minutes ago. He broke eye contact and looked away and Mohinder stroked his other cheek until dared to look back. He blinked and Mohinder appeared to have as much and as little to say as he did, slack jawed, hands resting just below his armpits for balance. They both winced when he did manage to pull himself out. He wanted to sit up and pull Mohinder into his arms but he was limbless, too mindless to even telekentically pull. Mohinder sat back and swayed for a moment before he decided to come down on all fours and lie beside him.

Sylar made the effort to roll over and they scooted up the bed, shuffling mechanically beneath the sheets. Sylar grabbed one of the extra pillows and did a poor job of wiping himself clean, but he was more or less dry by the time Mohinder scooted towards him, eyes slanting closed, hand barely touching his thigh. Mohinder leaned in and blindly kissed him and settled back with a sloppy smack and contented twist of his lips.

“Mohinder,” he said and arranged the sheets around them better. Their knees bumped and Mohinder made a noise of assent but didn’t open his eyes.

“You never asked me what I believe in,” he said, inching closer until his nose touched Mohinder’s.

“Mmhm,” Mohinder said, drifting off to sleep before Sylar had a chance to say anything he meant to say. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved by the fact. Watching Mohinder’s still features was more than enough to keep himself from falling asleep, far too entranced with how his expectations were usurped and turned on it’s head.

“Mohinder?” he asked. Mohinder nodded into the pillow and stretched lazily, knocking their knees and feet again. Sylar bent his leg to make room for the encroaching limbs. He closed his eyes as kissed the corner of Mohinder’s mouth and slid his arm over his waist, far from posessive; it was unyielding gratitude, acceptance of companionship.

“It’s not science, not God. It’s you. It’s always going to be you,” Sylar murmured, using his other hand to push back the sweat drenched curls. Mohinder didn’t stir but Sylar nonetheless turned to smother the rest of what he had to say in the pillow so he didn’t have to hear the awkward, stilted words, and he’d have the ability to express denial if Mohinder wasn’t fast asleep.


End file.
